and the song begins again
Saturday 5 March 2005 | I like a cookie
she says I’ve got a darkness
that I have to feed
and I’ve got a sadness
that grows up around me like a weed
Louise is playing with Crackle Ball (who almost has his own personality by now) and a popsicle stick, leaving me momentarily free to write this. No, now she’s pouncing fervantly (another uniquely spelled Mandarin word I think she should copyright) on my shoelace and gnawing on old files (I’m trying to sort through and throw things away, and finding it all but impossible) from my Native American College teaching/administrating gig. From whence this doublespeak memo, from the ersatz president to the faculty/staff:
I want to thank everyone for their participation in the organizational assessment done by [Expensive Consultancy Firm]. I have discussed their findings now on two occasions and feel this assessment and the implementation of recommendations are extremely important to out institutional health and viability. I am calling for a facilitated meeting with the directors to discuss possible next steps that in turn could be incorporated into formal recommendations to the Board. The assessment has identified a number of key areas for improvement. A well-thought out plan for addressing the concerns and issues brought forward by everyone will help us to be more efficient, thus more effective. A plan for implementing these recommendations will need to be developed. Developing an action plan will take time as will implementing the action plan. Additional resources may be needed to put the plan into action. I will be seeking your input throughout the process and look forward to developing constructive plans to improve the organizational effectiveness of our college. Once again, thank you.
And now my attempt at a venomous translation, which at the time I found hilarious and now seems watery to me, and merely indicative of how badly I needed to get out of there:
The consultants have found out that I am worse than useless—in fact, I am a downright impediment to our progress. Thus, though one of their key recommendations is to get rid of me, I am working desperately to conceal this from all of you. That is why, even though another one of their suggestions is that we have open meetings so you will have the illusion of shared authority, I am going to meet only with chosen directors. Any plan I come up with is not going to include input from any of you. Furthermore, nothing is ever going to change around here, not while I have anything to say about it! Take your constructive plans and put them where the sun doesn’t shine! Nouaahh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Well, it was funny to me at the time. I also found ancient but glowing dean’s annual reports and performance reviews of the me, which I may soon need in order to be rehired, in the event of no Ivy League acceptances and my apparent inability to survive on a gross income of $225 per week. Nay, alas—though I’ve been back on the film beat for an elephantine six hours, the New Yorker persists in failing to call and ask me to sub for Anthony during his next vacation to the continent. Pthoewy.
I am daunted, daunted I tell you, by the stacks and masses of papers and files which have been disinterred from the storage unit. I am daunted by the many emails (okay only 20 but still) awaiting response. I had lunch with the Edimatrix of my redoubtable Alt Weekly stomping ground; she too is 36 and her divorce went through last New Year’s Eve. She’s going to see Constantine with her ex tonight. She has the house, which was always hers; he’s rooming with an old friend of theirs, the weekly’s locally-famed sex columnist and equally famed misogynist asshole.
[Kitzi crawls experimentally underneath the radiator. Then into the laundry bag, and gets stuck there, miaowing fearfully.]
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